


The Bed

by simplymoa



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplymoa/pseuds/simplymoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A special bed and special sheets are essential parts of any strong marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have finally written my first Adam/Kris kid!fic.

Lilacs.

That was the scent. Kris approached the open bedroom window and held the sheer, white under-draping apart. The corners of his lips and eyes curved upward as a knowing grin spread across his face.

Yes, lilacs.

They planted the bush two summers before and had been disappointed that the shrub had never bloomed. Now, on this warm spring day, he pressed his forehead to the window screen and looked down to see the beginnings of soft violet buds scattered among the plant’s greenery.

He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to enhance the fragrance flowing through the open portal. Even at this early hour of the morning, he just knew it was going to be a wonderful day.

Allowing himself a moment more to embrace the scent, he knelt on the cushioned window seat and let the morning sun warm his face. He eventually slowly turned his head to look at their bedroom; still amazed at the way the first light of day seemed to embrace the walls, the furnishings and the bed.

When they built the house, Adam was not at all pleased to find that he had knowingly arranged the floor plan to allow the bright morning sun to fill the master suite. He liked to sleep; sleep long and undisturbed and definitely without light.  
They compromised by hanging delicate, light drapery with a dense backing, leaving the room pitch black while they were closed, yet full of light when only the under-sheers were drawn together. In time Adam grew to love the morning sun filtering through the lacy sheers as much as Kris did as it cast a sensual shadow on the bed.

Their bed.

It had also been a compromise where their bed was concerned. Adam wanted a dark print bedspread and Kris wanted a simple white duvet. Adam wanted a heavy, mahogany sleigh frame and Kris wanted spirally wrought iron with a canopy. Kris gave in on the print in lieu of solid and Adam agreed to a softer color scheme. As for the frame, they settled on a medium stained oak with ironwork accents and posts, without a canopy.

Yes, the bed was a compromise, as were all things in a healthy, strong marriage. Now, through sleepy morning eyes, Kris looked at the source of so many memories, smiling at the way the tussled comforter and sheets resembled billowy clouds - soft and fluffy and warm.

So inviting.  
So safe.  
Special.

He hated to leave the warmth of the sunshine and sanctuary of this room, but it was time to start another day. Hearing the shower running from the partially open bathroom door, he knew that once Adam was finished, breakfast would be required.

Because the children were spending the weekend with their grandparents, Kris was thankful he only had to prepare one breakfast selection for the two of them instead of an array of meals. Scrambled eggs drowning in salsa, Peanut Butter Captain Crunch with banana slices and fried bologna on buttered toast were the children’s typical morning requests.  
He often wondered how three children with strikingly similar looks, personalities and temperaments could be so diverse and downright quirky when it came to food.

His attention was drawn from his whimsical contemplations to the faint sounds of his husband singing in the shower a few feet away, reminding him of the busy day ahead. Still, he closed his eyes and listened to Adam’s sweet harmonies a moment more.

Sweet harmonies.

Kris loved to hear Adam sing. He loved to watch his husband sing, especially to their children when they were infants. There had been countless nights when he was lulled into wakefulness hearing Adam sing a lullaby barely above a whisper, the moonlight shining through the sheer drapes onto his face as he sat in the rocking chair with a tiny squirming bundle held lovingly to his chest. That was by far his most heartwarming and personal memory.

Adam’s soft, simple lyrics often tempted Kris to suggest Adam record an album of soothing children’s bedtime songs, yet he had refrained. Over the years he had shared so much of Adam with countless others that surly being selfish when it came to the melodies composed for their children wasn’t too great a sin.

Running his hand across the smooth wood of the rocker which still sat in the near their bedroom window, Kris regretted that it had outgrown its use. They would soon be moving the chair into their five-year-old daughter’s room so the child could rock her own “babies” to sleep.

On a shallow sigh, Kris remembered his original agenda for the day, glanced at his watch and moved toward the bed.  
With practiced simplicity, he removed the now rumpled soft pastel cotton sheets that had been kicked toward the end of the bed. He could still smell the faint scent of Adam’s cologne on the sheets as he gathered them into his arms and piled them on the floor. As he pulled one of the pillows from its case, he noticed the small notch of wood missing from the headboard and again his thoughts were instantly swept back to another time.

It was the day his eldest son, a typical hell-raising seven-year-old at the time, played rock star with Dad’s favorite guitar. It had been a gift from a former band member kept safely, or so they thought, hidden away in their home studio closet. The boy carried it into their bedroom, closed the door and cranked up their stereo. He had gotten carried away jumping and swaying his hips as he had seen his father do in all those old videos he and his siblings loved to laugh at. While attempting to spring from the bed to the floor, simultaneously strumming the instrument and singing along with the music, the neck of the guitar collided with the bed frame, chipping a small piece of wood from one of the headboard posts.

Kris could still feel the panic that had risen in his belly when he heard the loud cracking of wood followed by his son’s scream. It was still as fresh as the day it happened. As the memory played out, a small smile grasped his heart recalling how he and Adam ran into their bedroom only to find their boy hiding underneath their comforter, tightly clutching the guitar in one arm and the family dog in the other. It was a futile attempt to protect himself from his daddies’ impending wrath and the sight of it caused both parents to suppress laughter.

Even though he had been very angry with their son at the time, the child was not denied the comfort of sleeping between his parents that night after a scary monster had been seen in his closet, no doubt sent there to punish him for his wrongdoing.

Kris chuckled lightly at the recollection as he walked toward the linen closet, stopping briefly to drop the used sheets down the laundry basket. Opening the white washed French doors of the cabinet, he gathered a fresh set of well-worn, rather distastefully patterned replacement sheets.

These were their special sheets.

Not many people could say they ever had “special sheets” and some may even think overly sentimental to still use a set of nine year old linens, but these sheets were yet another of the many compromises that had come along with their marriage.

The linens were a gift and had arrived on a rainy Sunday afternoon. As Kris opened the package, the gaudy gold letters labeling the lesser-quality department store name from which the gift had been purchased took him aback. The linens were a gift from his great aunt whom he hadn’t seen for many, many years.

Nancy, his father’s-mother’s-sister, had sent them a wedding gift. It may have been a year and a half late, but it was typical Nan.

Tearing through the box like an excited child on Christmas morning, Kris found the loudest, most God awful floral print, flannel sheets he had ever seen staring back at him along with a small envelope containing a simple note:

“Now Sweetpea, I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but L.A. does get cold and you can’t always rely on a man to keep you warm whether he is your husband or not. I don’t know much about these rock and roll types, but I do know they travel a lot. Even if he’s as good to you as your mom tells me, he won’t always be there to snuggle with, so you need something to keep you toasty when he’s off singin’ on the other side of the world! Better late than never, love Aunt Nan.”

It made Kris chuckle even now to remember his sarcastic aunt’s words, but it also made him feel warm and fuzzy to know that these were “special sheets” that would soon bring such joy to their lives.

At the time, he couldn’t bring himself to not use the bedding at least once and it was after a long, drawn out argument about the hideous linens that Adam had come to bed with a bottle of wine in one hand and a surrender flag in the other. Well, Kris assumed the white silk briefs Adam was waving in the air were a signal for truce. A sinister chuckle echoed through their bedroom accompanied by a pink blush as Kris recalled the incredibly sensual way Adam had apologized to him.

To this day Adam disliked the sheets and often teased Kris about it and said how waking up with a wine induced hang over on huge gold, black and green sunflowers was something he never, ever wanted to do again. Still, Adam knew and occasionally acknowledged that these were their “special sheets” and when they used them something memorable usually occurred.

One such occasion was when Adam and their second son both came down with the chicken pox. Kris could still envision the site of the two of them snuggled together beneath those awful sheets, each sporting numerous red splotchy dots, watching cartoons and eating chicken soup.

Kris was just about to pull the comforter over the sheets when the bathroom door opened behind him. With only a towel wrapped low on his hips, Adam encased Kris with his arms and whispered as he kissed his shoulder, “Why did you make the bed?”

Sliding his nails along the sensitive underside of Adam’s forearms and up to his shoulders, further cocooning himself in his husband’s embrace, Kris softly replied, “Just changing the linens.”

The scent of lilacs again filled his senses, bringing a small smile to his lips. He closed his eyes and pulled Adam down with him onto the newly made bed.

“Actually, I was just waiting on you.”  
  



End file.
